


Meravas ("So shall it be")

by the-thedas-effect (puttingthepoeinpoetry)



Series: Scars [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:05:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puttingthepoeinpoetry/pseuds/the-thedas-effect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Blood Ties" (even though Ao3 says its part 1 of the 'Scars' series). One chapter for each of the companions and their most defining moments with the Inquisitor Raen Trevelyan, with a side of Iron Bull romance (skip through to the Blackwall chapter for the beginning of the romance and go from there or just skip straight to the Iron Bull chapter if you're all about the 'can you feel the love (and angst) tonight?' moments).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue/Varric

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I hope this makes the time pass slightly quicker for you quys in the wait for Inquisition. Take care and happy reading.

**_ Prologue; _ **

_The void before the creature was dim, what seemed to be ruins were scattered in the air among floating gargantuan mountains. The creature’s body hovered above one such precipice, between the broken frame of a tower and the skeleton of a ship floating by on an invisible tide, prow decorated with an elaborate carving of a winged monster. The creature was sleeping, it seemed yet began to rise, slowly, until it stood to its full height, suspended in the air. The wind filled with whispers, some soft, others harsh and accusatory. The voice that followed was neither. It silenced the whispers, and caused the creature to snap its head upwards in a single swift motion. A figure of light reached forth, cutting through the shadows. The creature opened its eyes, in a flash of blinding light, strips of cloth whipping around it, pulling it back as if trying to prevent it joining hands with the figure made of light. It clawed and clutched, and the Fade shook in its wake._

**_ Varric; _ **

The smell of burning flesh was not a pleasant one, Varric would admit. He doubted an army of dragons could have produced destruction and death equal to that of the Breach. It was a tragedy, one he hoped would put the war between the Templars and the Mages in perspective for those still under the illusion it mattered. After all that he had seen, a foe that wasn’t wielding a sword or staff was a welcome target. The demons that had crawled out of the sky had found little opposition to their presence, everyone within miles had already perished from the fires above, their bodies strewn upon the ashen plain that was once the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the village of Haven. The place looked as if there had been some massive battle, the sort one could spin a story or two about, but there had been no such thing, no warning, no protest, just indiscriminate carnage. Cassandra had been adamant, they were going to find those responsible and return order. That noble mission began with both he and Cassandra scouring the countryside for clues, killing any remaining demons with the small army of Templars and soldiers sent to them by the Divine. It wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time, waltzing through a sea of corpses, but he kept relatively quiet, only remarking upon his own fabulous marksmanship when the men looked like they needed some encouragement. The steady flow of demons from the Breach wasn’t slowing, and they began to tire. So far nothing Cassandra had deemed useful had presented itself, until the air tore apart once more, releasing yet another monster from the Fade. Only, this monster did not appear to be your commonplace demon.

His vision was skewed by the light crackling around her as she stumbled out of the Fade, or rather fell but he could tell what she was, a human, maybe an elf. Her dark gold hair further obscured her appearance as she half-laid upon the ash, breathing heavily and clutching her hand; her ears gave her away as human. The soldiers and he rushed forth, though Varric seemed to be the only one willing to approach. Whoever she was, it was plain from the gold hair pins to the gold-embossed corset, she certainly wasn’t poor. Her clothes lay mostly in tatters, the straps of what was once a linen shirt now covered only one shoulder, her costly looking leather corset was the only thing that seemed untouched by all that had happened and the dagger strapped to her thigh was a clear and simple threat. He would need to be careful with this one.

“Careful kid, it’s raining demons out here.” He kept his tone light, shouldering Bianca and signalling for the others to lower their weapons. She looked up, noticing them for the first time, eyes drinking in the horror of the scene before her. A corpse to her left seemed to reach towards her, embers still glowing, yet that didn’t make her flinch half as badly as Varric regrettably had. This woman looked like a wild thing, bright yellow eyes daring him to come closer as she slowly moved herself into a defensive position. This kid had combat training. “I wouldn’t do anything rash, if I were you”, he added, seeing her eyes flicker from weapon to weapon. “Do you have any idea what’s happened here?” he knelt so as to be on her level. Her eyes had returned to the burnt corpse closest to her, she seemed to be lost, so still, as if remembering something, or trying to. She broke from the reverie after a moment, meeting his eyes and shaking her head. She seemed to relax, ever so slightly, but tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps, standing. Cassandra hadn’t seemed to have gotten the whole ‘lower your weapons’ thing he was going for, but the girl, upon seeing the Chantry symbol of the Eye of the Seekers of Truth stood changed to a more formal and diplomatic approach to the situation.

“Seeker”, she inclined her head and continued, calm and slightly sarcastic, she reminded the dwarf of someone he cared for, but her heart wasn’t in the words. “It seems there has been some sort of misunderstanding.”

“I don’t think so.” Cassandra confidently contrasted the other girl’s tone. The strain of the past few days did not show in her voice.

“Seeker” he mediated, “we’ve got no reason to-“

“Be quiet Varric.” The Seeker was not impressed. He didn’t take it personally.

“I don’t suppose there’ll be any chance of you changing your mind if you’ve already made it but surely the Seekers of Truth have bigger threats to worry about than myself.” The woman drawled, gesturing vaguely to their surrounds. It was difficult to bear what had happened there; the Seeker felt it more than most.

“Our soldiers have found you practically waltzing out of the Fade, the only one who escaped a blast that killed thousands and you expect us to believe you have no idea how you survived? At this moment, you are the only threat I see.” The Seeker’s words were true. But the girl hadn’t seemed to notice, she was staring at her hand, rubbing her palm in something akin to disbelief. Cassandra had already unsheathed her sword and held it to the girl’s throat. The blade, however, did not intimidate her; she only lifted her palm almost directly into the Seeker’s face and raised an eyebrow. It seemed she had an explanation after all.

 

_ Darkness. Blood stains dragged across a courtyard. A young lord screams as his father places a crown made of melted silverite daggers upon his daughter’s head. Ostwick tower crumbles. Hearts turn cold. and The screams carry on. A Templar sits amid a field of burnt corpses, cradling the body of a stranger. Corpses sing sea shanties under a smoking sun as the world burns and somebody laughs. _

There was something satisfying in the clanking of manacles, in the thud they made in her calloused hands as she placed them upon the table, in the opening of the prison door. She was worth an interrogation, as least. Though it had not been the Seeker who opened the door, it had been Varric. The dwarf had been pleasant company, a welcome change from involuntary moments of stillness and clarity that clouded the mind. In the hours of stillness Raen had whittled away at herself with the knives of necessity- evaluating every action that had led her Haven, trying to pinpoint her mistake. The blast had left her with nothing, nothing but a swelling rage in the pit of her stomach that expanded at the thought of them all atop that blasted mountain. _They can all burn for all I care._ Perhaps she had been the cause, though she kept that theory to herself. The solitude was stifling; every bump in the night was Dante, as always, yet now every guard that passed was Ellion, every whisper upon a squall was her crew, sighing songs that brought surprisingly bitter lumps to her throat. However detachedness was all she knew, so that was where she stayed, pushing each apprehension down as it rose, forced herself not to look for what had already vanished, just as she always had. The dwarf was not a challenge, he already seemed on her side and relatively transparent, but he was a far better than ghosts. “Hey kid, how goes the interrogation?”

“Surprisingly well considering the revelation that I have something you people want. Seems the odds are in my favour but I thought I’d piss of the Seeker and hold out a little longer.” She mused.

“So you’re being so damn cagey just to get a rise out of Cassandra?”

“That and I don’t quite see the advantage in talking.”

“Do you always make decisions based on what’s advantageous to yourself?” This woman would make one heck of a dwarf.

“Always.” She smirked.

Varric scoffed at the response, this kid had balls. “So maybe you wouldn’t mind telling _me_ who you are? I could certainly tease the Seeker with it all day long if a reaction is really what you’re looking for.” It felt almost natural to her to jest like this; this dwarf would have been quite at home aboard the Griffon, Raen thought.

“Hmm, I suppose there is some merit in the idea. Very well, Varric.” It mattered little now; anybody who would have cared was already dead. “My name is Raen; Trevelyan bastard, Ostwick Circle Runaway and privateer.” She was watching him intently, gauging his reaction carefully, almost desperately trying to get a measure of the person she had become. Varric was surprised; he had believed she was a rogue, not a mage, and this certainly did not look the type of delicate lady that watched absentmindedly from a castle tower. Yet as his initial incredulousness subsided he began to laugh. “That’s quite a list of accomplishments there, Lady Trevelyan.” As he chucked he noticed, her hands were on fire upon the table, she had realized her story was not convincing. Cassandra would be livid when she realized the manacles had been almost useless all along.   

“It’s just Raen.” She seemed satisfied as she put out the fire without moving an inch. “I hardly expect you to believe it, considering when you check the records, as you undoubtedly will, you shall see that Lord Trevelyan’s daughter died in the Circle uprising. I was correcting that little administrative error mere minutes before the blast. Unfortunately, my thunder was stolen.” She was calm and cold as a lake in autumn as she watched him, in the same ripped and dirty linen shirt they’d found her in, hair messily falling about her shoulders. She was pretty, for a human, once you got used to the harshness of her. Yet she still had an air of death about her, something to do with that perpetually glowing green palm of hers perhaps.

“That’s an understatement.” The story was farfetched to say the least, just the sort of story he liked, actually. “So, I take it you lost people in the Blast” he sobered at the thought of charred faces, despairing and unrecognizable. She stilled, taking in the question with a slight frown. He tried to elaborate, “People you cared for.”

“I know what you meant, Messere, I am not daft. There were a lot of bodies.” She seemed to think that a definite enough answer and so he pushed no further, the truth of it was in her eyes; she either didn’t know or didn’t care, he hoped it was the former.

“Well, if you’re half as interesting as you say you are, it’ll be good to have you around. If you’re planning on cooperating with Cassandra, that is.” The corner of her mouth twitched, he wasn’t being half as subtle as he thought he was.

“Perhaps I shall, if the Seeker asks nicely.” She smirked, he couldn’t help but scoff.

“It’s your funeral, kid.” He’d already forgotten she had already required a few of those.


	2. Cassandra

**_ Cassandra; _ **

The woman had been insufferable for weeks now, always watching with those catlike eyes. She’d even started to chat to Varric and the soldiers, occasionally laughing or smiling with them. Not that merriment was a crime, but it was infuriating when the woman’s demeanor shifted from aloof to predatory, alarming even. Cassandra could practically feel the daggers Raen was sinking into her back from across the camp. Raen had been infuriated since their meeting with the Divine because Justinia had ambushed the woman with a plan to make her Inquisitor, a long-dead and completely unsuitable title for the cold and intemperate mage. Raen’s response had been somewhat abrupt; _“What the fuck? Are you insane? Just because I’ve got a glowing green palm doesn’t mean I’m going to be the Herald of some batty skank in the sky and her omnipotent husband. No._ But it had echoed Cassandra’s own response most accurately. Raen failed to realise that the Divine had not seen it fit to tell Cassandra, her right hand, the plan and they were very much in the same undesirable boat.

Yet the mage had settled eventually, and she had never actually voiced her discontent, only made it sufficiently _felt_. The interrogation had been ultimately fruitful, despite Raen’s insistence on playing games. What a long way to come, from a bastard living in the servant’s quarters to the prospective leader of the Inquisition sanctioned by the Divine herself. Whatever the Divine, and indeed whatever Varric and the rest of the soldiers saw in her was unclear to Cassandra, and it seemed just as unclear to Raen.

“Where are you from, Seeker? Orlais?” Raen’s yellow eyes glowed in the firelight, they were the only people awake and Cassandra could hear the dwarf was snoring softly in his tent. She had expected an aggressively silent evening.

“Nevarra, but I’ve spent most of my life in Orlais.” There was nothing left for her in Nevarra, not since Anthony was murdered. She was loyal to the Divine and she would do her duty, which was all that mattered.

“And you really do believe in all this then? Not Andraste and all that, I mean the Inquisition.”

“I believe in justice. If the Divine says the Inquisition can see it done, who am I to argue? And I do believe in Andraste and all that, as you say. The righteous stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall guide their hand." Cassandra replied, slightly aghast that the woman could communicate in a manner unlike that of a criminal.

“So you’re saying even if you disagreed with the Divine, you would not be so presumptuous as to argue with her. That hasn’t really answered the question; do you, Seeker, believe the Inquisition can, as you put it a few days ago, ‘find those responsible for the Breach and restore order’?” The other woman had stopped sharpening her blades long enough to wait for Cassandra’s response, and while the question was phrased in a vaguely insulting manner, it seemed sincere.

“Are you interrogating me now?” The woman smiled at that, her smiles made her look like just a girl, she couldn’t be more than one and twenty. “If I didn’t see the merit in it, I would not be dragging you across Thedas, I’d have given you and Varric both what you wanted and dropped you at a Tavern somewhere.” They had been avoiding taverns and inns on the road, opting for the safer, yet far less comfortable option; tents.

“There’s still time”, Raen mused, running a finger absentmindedly along the longest of her small collection of daggers.

“I’ll remember that next time Varric starts telling you about the Champion.” Cassandra laughed, perhaps this mage was not as black hearted as she had believed, and she even reminded her of her brother. They had the same devilish grin. Memories fluttered about the flames as she Seeker stared into them, memories of family, of betrayal. Yet sulking would not help the matter. “Can I ask you a question now?” the Seeker stretched out her legs, making the leather straps on her greaves creak.

“You haven’t had enough of asking me personal questions? Not that I minded the interrogation, you wouldn’t really want a mass-murdering blood mage as the face of the Inquisition and I appreciated the ‘good Templar, bad Templar’ act with Varric, that was a touch of genius, Seeker.” She smirked, so the girl was not stupid either, “Wouldn’t you prefer to know as little as possible?” Her lighthearted tone was undercut by something… different as she continued, “I know I would.”

“I watched you curse in front of the Divine, I don’t think the answer to my question will be so shocking. I already asked how you got your scars though I sincerely did not appreciate the snide demonstration nor the unnecessary nudity at the time, I just noticed a new one. What happened there? As you say, I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to lead men and women unless I can attest personally to your character.”

“And asking about scars helps, does it?” The woman was still laughing from the recollection of her most singular demonstration of how to offend a Seeker’s sensibilities. It would have been difficult not to be enraged at the insolence of undressing oneself while being interrogated, had the words the woman spoke as she pointed at each and every scar covering her body had not been so perturbing. The Seeker had not told Varric or the Divine, in their private meeting after Raen’s spirited outburst; how exactly the woman had received the marks- she had left most details out, or attributed them all to danger upon the high seas.

“That was Varric’s idea, he said if I remember correctly, ‘it always leads to a good story’. I am sorry that he was wrong for the most part.” The Seeker had not known what to say to the naked girl as she sat back down with her legs folded and slipped her tattered shirt back on. They had offered her other clothes, but at the time she refused them and even at present, every now and then Varric would laugh at camp, for no apparent reason, and Cassandra knew exactly why.

“Only for the most part.” Her eyes blazed with silent laughter, or perhaps just the flickering light. “I suppose you mean my neck; you can only see it when it shines in the light. Well, which story would you like; I was exceptionally brief before so you can have the short version, the long version, the lie or the truth. Take your pick.”

“Have you given anything but the truth, thus far?” the prospect warranted concern.

“Only different versions, the short ones mostly, though if it was Varric who had asked, I’d give him the humorous one, only because he seems to need it.” She was insightful, beneath the roughness of her appearance.

“I’ll take the truth in whatever length you see fit.” The Seeker was hoping it was the long version, and a pleasant story, another about a battle upon the Amaranthine Ocean, the sort that Varric would tell to fill in the long hours while waiting for dawn.

“You will recall I mentioned Dante before, his… talents… did not only consist of hot or cool pokers, wooden swords and wet sheets. He had tried once before, but let me go, because he was frightened his father would see, I think. He… strung me up, thought it was a surefire way to get me to show him I was a mage, I suppose.”

“Did someone cut you down?” The mage had said, proudly, during the interrogation that she had never showed her brother her magic and that had caused him to become more creative, eventually leading her to be taken away by Templars, under special orders from her father in cooperation with the Chantry.

“No, I suppose nobody important enough noticed.” So the servants had, but said nothing. “He let me go after a while; I was always such a disappointment.” She smiled almost sadly, years of abuse didn’t seem to shame her in the least, nor should they, she was proud of them, nevertheless Cassandra had never seen her sleep at night.

“Can I ask, what was the lie going to be, about the scar if I had asked for that?” It was a poor attempt at distracting the girl from what lay behind her.

“That I nearly was hanged in Kirkwall for selling stolen goods.” She solemnly twirled a dagger about in her hand. “That did actually happen, but they were going to cut off our hands, until I sweet-talked a Templar or two. My hidden talent; Templar persuasion.” The girl seemed sad as she said it, not that Casandra blamed her considering the topic they had just discussed but there was no malice in her tone and it begged another question.

 “You don’t loathe the Templars, as most Marcher mages seem to?” It was a small wonder, perhaps this mage _could_ lead, but perhaps neutrality was not what they needed most at a time like this, a strong hand would be the obvious choice.

“Why would I hate them when they gave me a life, gave me somebody to be? The Templars had delivered her, yet she was not blinded by it. “I was a far better Rivaini than I ever was a Marcher” she jested. “In a way it wasn’t a lie when I said I died in the Uprising. I saw a Templar I used to know at the Temple, he didn’t recognise me at first.” She had quietened, but continued most confidently. “But it didn’t matter, in the end, did it? Templar, mage, noble, peasant, man or woman, they all died.” She turned away slightly as she shrugged.

“All except one.” Cassandra mused solemnly; this girl had more common sense than was good for a person.

“All except me. Lucky you.” The sound of their laughter caused Varric to discontinue the muffled snoring and wander out by the fire, settling in his usual position of diplomat between the two ladies, yet for the first time, the ensuing silence was not uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and leaving 'kudos' guys, I appreciate it so much.


	3. Cullen

**_ Cullen; _ **

“ _Advisors?_ What do I so desperately need advice on, Cassandra? How to chew my food perhaps, or wipe my ass?” The barb wasn’t directed at him especially but it certainly didn’t escape his notice, even though it was only whispered it carried from outside the door. The dwarf had to leave the room in its wake as he had begun to scoff. The reverence of the situation was utterly ruined before the Inquisitor had even entered the room. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, don’t be so sour Cass.”

‘We can use all the help we can get, Inquisitor.” Cullen wondered if they were aware the door was open and himself, Leliana and Josephine- introduced to each other only minutes before- could hear every word they were saying.

“I said I was kidding, look, I even dressed formally for the occasion. What is wrong with you?” The Inquisitor, to her credit, did seem generally concerned for her flustered companion.

“Nothing, I only wish this to go well, please, do not offend them. No nudity. No cursing. Prove my opinion of your political finesse wrong, use whatever hidden talents you possess. Honestly, Inquisitor, just do everything you did not do in front of the Divine. You’ve declined any information about them, at least _try_ to act like you care that they’ve given up their time to be here.”

“I am _offended_. I am a _delight_ , Cassandra. And the meeting with the Divine was an ambush, you know that.” The doors opened with a confident slam, revealing a woman that did not match the voice, nor the reputation that preceded her. She was undressing as she entered, pulling a scarf from around her head that she had evidently been using as protection from the sun and sand around Skyhold, either that or it was a disguise. She wore a burgundy strip of cloth fastened about one of her wrists that she now used to pull her hair into a messy ponytail, and a loose fitted white lined top that opened wide at the front above a pair of figure-hugging dark breeches. She had evidently been lying when she had said she dressed formally and he got the sense the shirt was not her own. She was shorter than the Seeker, but wore heeled boots that evened the gap.  Yet it was her appearance that contrasted her title so fiercely.

She moved about the war-table, introducing herself as Raen Trevelyan and delicately shaking the hand of each advisor in turn, himself last. She paused as she viewed his face; a flicker of something akin to recognition crossed her own. He did not know her; he would not have easily forgotten that face. It was startling, in passing it seemed beautiful, full lips and a nose that rounded and turned down slightly at the tip, suggesting she was not a Fereldan or Marcher, as did her complexion. Yet her hair was golden, darkly so, as were her eyes. The more you stared at her, the more you saw, the obvious scars- twin jagged lines across her right cheekbone and one upon her top lip- the freckles and the less obvious scars that covered, judging from her mostly-bare chest, most of her body, though it was generally hard to tell as she was covered in dust, or the gold rings and studs in the top of her right ear. “I apologise for my appearance, I don’t usually look quite so dishevelled when conducting business on behalf of the Inquisition.” She then turned and smiled endearingly at the Seeker, “I look forward to working with you and appreciate your support in matters of espionage, diplomacy and military strategy in which I confess I lack experience. Please, make yourselves at home and do not hesitate to ask for anything, the Seeker will inform you of your duties and show you to your private quarters.” With an inclination of her head, she turned on her heel and strutted from the room, raising an eyebrow at Cassandra as she passed before the Seeker stepped forward to take her place. Josephine was the first to speak, “She speaks well. It would seem I have the easiest job here.”

 

* * *

 

Skyhold’s Chantry was not small, but it was in a state of what could be most kindly labelled disrepair. He did not expect to see anyone inside it, let alone the Inquisitor herself. She was not praying, simply wandering the pews, trailing her hands along statues and stained glass, showered in dappled light.

“I did not think you were an Andrastian.” He did not think she would mind the informal tone, she did not seem the type to care, even though she spoke as one who did.

“I am not. Even when I was a child I could only watch the nobles enter the Chantry, one by one in their finery, I would sit atop the roof and count them, they had one in the Circle as well but I’ve never been introspective enough to pray.” She turned on him, almost predatorily circling by the altar to stand in front of where he stood in the centre of the aisle, and gestured for him to sit before she joined him, leaving a wide distance between them. “You reminded me of someone I once knew, he appreciated places like this, more than I ever could.” She breathed quickly on the last few words, a sad sort of stifled laugh.

“I see. People appreciate things in different ways.” It was an awful attempt at small talk; he was never any good at that. Trevelyan was a noble name, but he had been told she was a bastard by Josephine, who knew noble family names like an alphabet.

“I apologise, it seems I have ambushed you in a Chantry. Cassandra will have my head.” She laughed; it was a pretty thing, girlish almost. She moved to go, but did not get far before she turned and asked “You were in Ferelden, or Kirkwall, weren’t you? They wouldn’t have hired you just on military capability, I told them to hire a Templar, a Commander who was present for the worst of the uprisings and has experience with demons firsthand, to make up for what I lack.”

“Both. I was at the Circle Tower in Ferelden during the Blight and in Kirkwall when the Champion sided with the Templars against the mages. She saved a lot of lives with that decision. I do not mean to be presumptuous but, you are a mage, aren’t you?” As a Templar he had felt the surge of energy emanating from her even from across the room.

“Yes. I understand your compassion also saved a lot of lives, Knight-Commander Cullen.” He blinked in surprise; she knew more than she let on. “Varric likes to tell stories.”

She was rubbing the dirt from her neck as she continued, “Mages and Templars have stood together in every major crisis in Thedas since the first Blight. That fact, and that fact alone, has kept tensions from boiling over, on both sides of the conflict. Every time the mages in the Circles get especially annoyed, there is a crisis and the mages are granted a longer leash. That will not happen this time. Perhaps the examples the Inquisition sets will help reinforce the importance of the Circle, if the Templars keep their oaths to protect.”

“You wish the Circles to continue?” he was surprised, to say the least.

“I wish Thedosians would appreciate that the world has bigger problems than the complaints of people with clothes on their backs and food in their stomachs. If a mage truly wants to be free of the Circle, let them fight, if they are not willing to help themselves, they do not deserve my help. Those who are not strong enough to fight, to pass the Harrowing, perhaps they are better off. Please, do not misinterpret my meaning; I would burn every Circle from here to Tevinter if I thought that would prevent innocent lives being lost, on either side of this conflict.”

“The Chant of Light says that the Maker guides the hand of the righteous, not the strong.” He didn’t wholly disagree with what she was saying, but the point was there to be made.

“Yet the world will always be the same, Ser, those with weaknesses get killed by those who lack them.” She seemed vaguely annoyed. “I hope I am wrong, and your Maker will hear the prayers of all who think they suffer and fight for their freedom, but he never fought for mine.” And with that, she turned on her heel, and marched out of the Chantry, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

“Maker turn his gaze on you, Inquisitor.”

"I'd rather he turned it from me, Advisor. But thank you." She bid him farewell with in incline of the head. "I do not think we will be alone again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies, I know the chapters are getting a bit jumpy and whatnot but I'm hoping the lack of chronology is okay. I didn't want to paint Raen as being too at odds with everybody's favourite noodle-haired Templar but perhaps slightly more uncomfortable around him due to the events of "Blood Ties" that he reminds her of, which are certainly not the tormenting sort of memories she is used to but rather are simply relics from a time when she was somebody else. It may seem, from this chapter, that there is a bit of hositility there but I can assure you there is not- she does not dislike Templars of the Blue Lyrium variety and she might have even romanced Cullen if circumstances were different. As always, thank you for reading and have a lovely day.
> 
> Next chapter is *drumroll* Blackwall and the beginning of the beautifulpiratesexgodsromanceicannotstresshowexcitediamfortheIronbulllikewow!


	4. Blackwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go Iron Bull/Trevelyan shippers, go crazy.

**_ Blackwall; _ **

Blackwall was surprised to see the Inquisitor sitting in Skyhold’s tavern, alone. She usually had a band of soldiers nipping at her heels, he didn’t think she could help it, the lass was likeable. Almost every evening she would be one of fi not the last to leave, listening intently to anyone who dared speak to her or buying drinks for her companions, usually himself of Sera and asking questions about their lives before the Breach. She was always eager to listen, whether it was out of self-interest or altruism remained to be seen but she listened with a genuine curiosity al the same.

“Evening Inq-“ she kicked him in the shin before he could greet her properly, though he harly knew where to look considering her choice of attire.

“I apologise Blackwall that was necessary. Tonight, if you must address me you must call me Raen. I am trialling an old favourite as an interrogation tactic, or at least that’s what Cassandra thinks because I told the bartender to say the Inquisitor…” she winked, the girl had obviously been on the drink for a while now, she didn’t get merry easily, “and then he told someone, who told Cass. So I told her, it was all part of my elaborate plan to catch a spy. But it could, just be me trying to have some fun after the Seeker said I couldn’t dance with the soldiers anymore because I dance like an ‘Antivan whore’. Judging by your presence, Cassandra thought I’d get myself killed in the process.”

“I see. Well forgive me Inq… Raen, but are you interrogating your tankard there or did you have an actual person in mind?” He chuckled as she laughed heartily at him; she was usually not this quick to grin.

“That Qunari and his mercenaries have been making themselves at home in my tavern for two days now, I’m going to find out why.” And with that, she slipped off the stool and swayed over past the group of mercenaries to sit by herself. It didn’t take long for the mercenaries to stop comparing how many pieces they could cut a man into and to start calling out.

‘Pretty lady, come and join us!” She reacted shyly at first, covering her face with one hand demurely until one of them stood and offered her his seat at the table, kissing her hand as she passed.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a dump like this?” the mercenary closest to her asked as his friends nodded in assent.

“Skyhold is a long way from Rivain.” The largest Qunari looked up from his tankard, Blackwall could tell this was going to be a long night; she’d play this for all it was worth.

“Longer way from Par Vollen, unless you take the Royal Road.” She smirked, her voice slurred ever so slightly, sounding far more common than it usually did. The Qunari laughed at her knowledge of Pirate slang for an Orlesian Navy trading route, she had captured his attention.

"I spent a year or two working for fishers’ bleeders, but their captain was crap. Figured I could do better. The best folks in the bleeders agreed with me. I snapped his sword in half and we talked things out over drinks. I don’t suppose anyone who knows about the Royal Road was just a bleeder. Now a Rivaini Pirate in Skyhold, that sounds like an interesting story.” he mused.

“Aye, might be.” She smiled, clearly in her element.

“Clear out boys, I’m buying the pretty lady a drink.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off her yet. His friends didn’t much care for the suggestion to clear out but removed themselves to the bar without much fuss. The giant Qunari was clearly the leader, the lass had good instincts. She didn’t need watching, as Cassandra had suggested, the Inquisitor had the Qunari laughing more often than not and as the evening progressed, and the drink kept on flowing, she was clear as a summer’s day enjoying herself. She must have liked the company, or he’d have wagered a hundred sovereigns that the ‘Iron Bull’, as the Qunari called himself, would have had no hands after slapping her on the arse when she got up to get drinks. Blackwall’s hand had flown to his sword at the sound, but there had been little need. As the mercenaries began to grow more boisterous, they sang shanties and she sang along, when she wasn’t laughing too hard to draw breath.

“Do you know any sailor’s songs for the lady?” the Bull roared at the man sitting and plucking at a lute in the corner in a most lacklustre manner. The man looked slightly terrified but nodded, “I know one, Drunken Sailor, if it please you.”

“Does it please the lady whose name I do not know?” He seemed to be trying to remember whether or not she had actually told him and he had just forgotten. “Aye, it’ll do. And my name’s Raen, like the weather, but not.” She giggled, “Are you going to ask me to dance, Ser The Iron Bull?”

He certainly looked as if he wanted to; perhaps if his horns didn’t near reach the ceiling. “Do you want me to ask you to dance, Raen like the weather but not?”

The woman’s voice had dropped low, barely carrying above the music. Blackwall had to move to the table behind the Qunari just to hear. “I’d much rather hear why a Ben-Hassrath spy has killed demons in the area and why he and his band of mercenaries are sitting in my tavern in my Keep.” The act had been dropped; she placed a leg upon the seat he sat on to make it clear the option of leaving was out of the question.

“I take it you’re the Inquisitor then.” The Iron Bull seemed too drunk to care that he had been deceived, and didn’t alert his companions who were now happily singing along with the musician.

“You’ve got a bloody good eye for spy-spotting, it seems.” Blackwall had at least expected him to deny it.

“I’ve got two, actually. And I’ve spent a lot of time in Rivain, I can tell one Qunari from another unlike most people around here.” He roared with laughter at her barb about his eye.

“You got me Raen, your name is Raen, isn’t it? Look, all I’m doing is leading the Chargers, taking jobs from nobles and reporting anything I find to the Arishok. When that big hole in the sky opened up, and a woman apparently crawled out of it, my superiors thought it worth investigating. Now, I’ve got a network of spies that could be useful for someone in your position. I was going to come and offer my, offer our, services to you Inquisition folk formally, but it seems you beat me to it, which is crap because I had it all planned out but I was never going to lie. Not my style.”

“People are saying I _crawled out of the Breach_?” she was gobsmacked, as was he apparently.

“You don’t actually care about being spied on, do you?” That got him a laugh.

“Not particularly, though I would like the record set straight that I did not crawl from a gaping, demon-filled hole in the sky. In all seriousness though, can I trust you to have my back? I mean for all I know, I’m the one being played right now.”

“Five minutes ago you were the most interesting Rivaini tavern wench I ‘d ever met. Now you’re someone else. I’ve got the back of Raen, like the weather, but not, Raen, I don’t think I know the other one well enough to say and I can’t speak for her companions. But if demons are killing innocent people, we’re both on the same side anyhow. You can trust that.”

“That’s good enough for me, _if_ I read the reports before they are sent. I’m assuming you have a vague and unimaginative idea of what I’ll do to you if you betray me, so I won’t bother elaborating.”

“Of course.” The lass was smart, if that matter had come before the advisors, there would have been no guarantee of the mercenaries’ safety.

“Then I will see you in the morning in the Throne Room introducing yourself and your band of mercenaries as civilian solders, simply wanting to protect innocent people from demons. If anyone accuses you of being a spy, deny it. I’ll vouch for each of you personally.”

“Time to go Blackwall”, she called, rising from the table and holding out a scarred and delicate hand for the Qunari to shake. As his monstrous hand clasped hers she seemed to smirk despite herself, “I’m glad we could talk this out over drinks.” She walked confidently from the tavern, she was not drunk at all it seemed until she reached the stairs and groaned. “You will have to help me, Ser Warden, I’ll break my neck on these stairs otherwise and then we’d really be in the shit.” Her words had slurred slightly again and her hair had completely fallen out of the tangled mess it was in before. “And If Cassandra asks if I behaved in a manner that was unbecoming or whorish- I trust you know which answer will make her happiest. Happy Seeker, happy Inquisition.” The woman was laughing breathily to herself, looking more dishevelled than he had ever seen her before.

“Of course, Inquisitor” he replied, taking her arm and leading the way back to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put this up on FF.net before here, which was silly, and I couldn't not put it up here as well although I wanted to wait a bit. I have all 12 chapters sitting here ready to go, should I just post all of them and let the chips fall where they may? I will probably just post them all today or tomorrow because I am lazy and I need to get these damn headcanons out of my head and into the minds of others so that they may feel my angst. So if you see the chapter count go from 4 to 12 in a matter of hours, don't be surprised or impressed ;) As always, thank you for reading!


	5. Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is such mindless fluff, pay no attention to my hopeless teacup dragon hopes.

**_ Solas;  _ **

“Enjoying the view, are you?” The female elf was staring at the enormous Qunari beside her with a scandalous grin on her face. Solas had not noticed the Qunari staring at the Inquisitor’s backside until Sera so eloquently pointed it out.

“What?” the Iron Bull didn’t seem to see the problem “It’s an enjoyable view. Well rounded.” He shrugged.

“You’re not wrong, but if you keep staring like that you'll trip over, your tiny head is going to go over your enormous heels, and I'm not helping you up.” the elf, it seems, was not going to disagree with her friend but Solas was thankful the wind was in their favour and their voices had only blown back to his ears, not forwards to the Inquisitor’s. The pair seemed mildly impressed when the woman in front of them bent down and threw a bow at Sera that she had pulled from the nearby body of the bandit the elf’s arrows had brought down mere minutes before.

"Anybody mind if I take some souvenirs? Maybe just a couple of those pronged helmets?" The Iron Bull was in his element, placing two helmets, one atop the other, upon the Inquisitor’s head. “You have no idea how stupid you look right now” he laughed loudly as she rolled her barely visible eyes at him. She wore armour, sharp dark metal gauntlets and greaves, over a figure-hugging set of breeches and a hooded black coat, trimmed with the Inquisition’s trademark red which covered a blood-red buttoned shirt that was cut low.

“I think I’ll put one on each of your horns. If we’re lucky, the bandits will drop dead of fright at seeing a three-headed twit.” Sera cackled, throwing a staff in Solas’ direction. It was of elven make, wooden and strong. This looting thing was not so bad, he thought, even though he felt an outsider still. The three companions before him knew each other well, better than he knew anyone at Skyhold.

The Iron Bull continued after the Inquisitor, following the tracks of a band of bandits, or what they hoped was bandits. “Sera, I have a thought, next time we run into a line of bandits, I’ll pick you up and throw you.”

The Inquisitor’s laugh made Sera’s response difficult to hear but she was clearly unhappy at the suggestion. The massive Qunari was persistent though, “No! Look, you and Varric are the only ones small enough for me to throw, and he’s pretty dense. This could work! I lob you up over the line, behind the fight. Mayhem ensues.” Sera continued to be unimpressed as the Inquisitor continued to laugh, “Well do some bloody presses! I can’t fly you damn tit!” “Think of the mayhem Sera, Inquisitor, help me out here.” The Inquisitor was almost beyond helping anyone, by this point, but managed to join the Bull’s chorus of “Mayhem!”  Solas could not help but laugh quietly to himself, they were certainly a colourful bunch, something he was unused to.

The three fought as one cohesive unit, but the Inquisitor made sure to include him when she wasn’t walloping a member of the incredibly large band of bandits. The band had been large enough to take out a dragon. Nobody could have prepared themselves for the Inquisitor’s reaction, least of all himself. “This is… wonderful! Look at it!” She was practically beside herself with excitement. “This Is a Fereldan Frostback, you can tell by the markings upon the back and the arrangement of the plates and scales.” She was quite the expert on Dragons, it seemed, and as the others gathered their scattered loot and arrows she saw fit to inspect the body, chatting to Solas all the while. She found more bodies nearby, of baby dragons the size of Mabari hounds. “They should not have done that. They should have spared the juveniles.” Her jaw had tightened, she was obviously annoyed the Bandits had gone so far.

“Can I ask you how you know so much about dragons, Inquisitor?” his interest was piqued.

“I had a lot of time to read in the Circle.” She didn’t seem to want to elaborate and he did not push her. “Did you hear that?” He had heard it, a faint and sharp shriek, pitiful almost. She moved quicker than he had ever seen another mage move, jumping down from the rocks she had climbed upon to get a better view of the dragon.

She returned before he could follow, clutching what looked to be an armful of blue flames. “Look what I found!” she whispered excitedly, lifting the small creature up for his inspection. The flames, it seemed were of her own making, and had blanketed the incredibly small lizard she was holding, no, not a lizard, he thought, a dragon.

“Can I keep it? Do you think I could keep it?” she looked almost like a child, all cuts and bruises, freckles and hope. “I’m keeping it.” She laughed, pulling the animal to her chest, where it climbed about for a moment before settling in the hollow of her shirt, right between her breasts. “The Advisors will have a fit.” The idea did not seem unappealing to her, as she clicked her tongue in imitation of what the little reptile was doing, running a hand along its back. It would certainly not be a dull morning.

“Hawke, no!” she snatched the book from the little dragon’s reach.

“What did you just call it?” Solas called from behind a bookshelf, she had not realised she was not alone.

“Hawke. Initially it was a joke of Varric’s but it sort of stuck. It stops him talking about the champion so often I think, so the rest of the crew seem to like it.” She had draped the dragon across her chest, if she hadn’t Solas was sure Hawke would have found its way there again, it seemed to be its favourite spot. “Do you happen to know if we have any books on falconry, Solas?”

“Ah, I see. I do not think we do, but If I find one I will bring it to you personally.” It seemed she wanted to train the dragon, not only keep it as an adopted orphan. It could either go incredibly well, or terribly, though even the advisors would agree, the sight of the Inquisitor with a dragon was boosting morale, wise or no.

"Thank you, Solas. I think he was the runt of the litter, so to speak. He is so small compared to anything I’ve ever seen or read about. I’m afraid I’ll have to let him go soon; I promised I would only keep him until I was sure he could survive in the wild. So if you find anything on falconry techniques, send word, the sooner he can learn to hunt, the better.” So she did not actually wish to keep the dragon, not to use it despite her obvious attachment to it. Perhaps he had misjudged her intentions altogether. “And I thought we might take Cole out in the garden for a while, get him to help us pick some herbs or something while Hawke here stretches his wings.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor. Also, I am sorry. Your dreams are very loud. The Fade does not seem to like you very much.” She took a moment, cradling the dragon to take in what he had said, to evaluate what he might have heard or seen whilst Fade walking.

“There have been people the Fade has loved less.” She didn’t seem to care much for apologies.


	6. Leliana

**_ Leliana _ **

“I want the world back.” The blade sliced the young man’s throat easily, darkness oozed from the wound, spreading over the stone floor. Alexius cried out, releasing a bolt of blazing green energy that knocked her to the ground, but Leliana was beyond caring. The Inquisitor, who only moments before had been threatening the man now seemed aghast, albeit slightly impressed. “That was something I would do.” The woman sighed, obviously not quite seeing it as a compliment. Leliana could not stop to think, to comprehend, she had given them only one option; fight or die- there was no room left for diplomacy or threats. The demons were coming. The Inquisitor wasted no time, she slipped a blade from the Iron Bull’s belt and drove it into the skull of Alexius. “I am sorry Dorian, but we can still do what we came all this way to do, besides rescue Leliana, that is. It seems we have been given little choice but to make a stand here. I need you to work on that spell, _now_.” Dorian seemed to understand, and immediately set to work tyring to reverse the deeds of his former mentor.

“I have seen the amulet being used in Minrathous but I will need approximately an hour to figure out the spell to use it.” He called, viewing the object with a frown creasing his brow.

Leliana spoke up. “An hour? That’s impossible! You must go now.”

“I would seem we don’t _have_ an hour.” The Inquisitor was sure to give Leliana a slightly pointed look, as if her revenge had been somehow unwarranted. “Do what you can, Dorian. We will hold the Venatori off as long as possible.” The comment was sarcastic, or perhaps the Inquisitor was merely irritated, because as she spoke, a series of screeches filled the air, causing the ground around the party to shake, drawing nearer with every passing moment. Stones fell from the ceiling; Leliana still seethed with rage at her captors, but attempted to put her feelings aside in the cold light of the Inquisitor’s yellow gaze. “The Elder One comes.” The elf, Sera had begun to speak, imploring the Inquisitor to listen.

“That’s how they won, how _it_ won…” the girl seemed distraught, the Qunari next to her stepped forward, looking only at the Inquisitor. “We’ll head out front; keep them off your tail.” The Inquisitors fists clenched as she opened her mouth to speak, clearly unhappy, but the Qunari slowly nodded, saying something louder than words, it seemed. And with a gentle incline of the head from them both, the elf and the Qunari turned towards the oncoming fight, closing the doors behind them.

“Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows” Leliana moved past them all, taking up a defensive position in front of the door before the platform on which only Dorian and Raen now stood. Leliana could barely hear the Inquisitor’s response to her words, a simple and whispered threat; if they die for your mistake, there will be consequences. So she did care more than she let on after all.

The doors burst open in a blast of light, Leliana began to pray; she would need more than skill to survive this. “Though darkness closes in, I am shielded by flame.” A hoard of demons spilled across the floor as Felix’s blood had only minutes before. The pale and limp body of Sera was thrown to the ground at her feet. “Andraste guide me.” Arrow after arrow sunk into the unnatural bodies of the wretches and Venatori soldiers alike, yet they were still advancing. “Maker take me to your side.” An arrow pierced her shoulder. She could hear the Inquisitor move behind her.

Dorian intervened, “You move, and we all die!” Reinforcements swarmed Leliana as the amulet finally reopened the rift. She had a perfect view of it as one of the soldiers grabbed her from behind, choking her with a sharp gauntlet. This was the end, after all she had been through, and this was to be her end. Maker help them all.

“I don’t have to move.” The Inquisitor murmured. The soldier holding Leliana cried out in pain, blood leaking from his eyes and face as slashes appeared all over his body, soon his companions followed suit. What had she done? They were sufficiently distracted by the wounds rapidly searing from their every limb, this was Leliana’s chance. Perhaps it was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue from a demo of Dragon Age Inquisition was included in the chapter. Thanks for reading, lovelies!


	7. Dorian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, by far, my favourite chapter to write. Enjoy!

**_ Dorian;  _ **

The Inquisitor was staring blankly at the Advisors, as were the other mages they had gathered for the meeting. It was an ambush, of sorts, and Lady Trevelyan had a deep dislike of traps she didn’t craft herself.

“We realise you had private tutoring with the First Enchanter of the Ostwick Circle, and obviously passed your Harrowing, and so we, and the Seeker, feel that it would be extremely beneficial to the Inquisition if you would refrain from using blades in combat unless absolutely necessary.” Dorian could feel the tension in the room rise at the words of Josephine. They were not intended to offend, but as far as he could tell, the inquisitor only prided herself on two things; her charm and her skill with a blade. Yet if was not Josephine the Inquisitor directed her gaze upon, it was the Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast. She did not look angry in the slightest, only wounded. Apparently there was more to the issue than it seemed, but the Inquisitor smiled in time, a fierce, predatory thing. “I will do whatever the Inquisition deems necessary.”

“I am sure any of the mages present would be more than happy to help you if you feel your-“ Leliana picked up where Josephine left off, but it was doubtful the Inquisitor would hear, as she was now halfway down the stairs.

“With all due respect, Advisors, I’ve seen her fight, I don’t think she needs any help from ‘the mages’, as you put it.” Dorian was still mad at the redheaded bard for removing the choice of a compromise from their dealings with Alexius, dealings that they were all still recovering from.

 

The training yard was quiet, and Dorian was curious about what lay unspoken between the Inquisitor and the Seeker. Varric had not known when he had asked, only dissolved into a fit of laughter upon further speculation until he was no longer able to produce comprehensible words. Dorian only managed to glean ‘thank you’ and ‘I had almost forgotten’.

She was hacking away at a training dummy, not her usual sort of attacks which were smooth and quick, but harsh, vicious movements meant to maim and elongate suffering. Her enthusiasm suggested she was more hurt by the suggestion she practice magic more often than he had originally thought. “You know, I could put a Chantry flag on that and you could pretend it was the Seeker, if you like. Though I doubt your companions will find that to be in good taste.” Dorian smiled easily, the comment had at least made her stop swinging long enough to listen before she began again.

“I think they meant for you to set an example for the mages.” _Thunk._ “They think that if mages see you, leading warriors and such, that they will be contented.” _Thunk. Thunk._

“The mages will never be contented. Is anyone ever contented?” She had removed the head of the dummy and was holding it in one hand, throwing it at his feet.

He chose to ignore the question, it was unanswerable. “Did you know that mages have fought in every major battle since the first Blight. Yes, you did. Well do you know that with special dispensation from the Chantry, some of those mages even rose to be called Knight-Enchanters, summoning blades from the Fade to protect, defend or even hack at stuffed bags of straw upon a wooden apparatus, as you are so skilfully demonstrating. Food for thought.” He was pleased with himself, she had actually stopped to listen and did not seem to have a clue as to what he was talking about. Nearby, the Iron Bull had emerged from the Keep, limping slightly, he seemed to be grateful to see the fading sun after being stuck in the infirmary so long. Dorian recalled the Inquisitor’s reaction to having to drag both his and Sera’s lifeless bodies back to Skyhold, she did not sleep, only tried what little healing skills she knew to keep them alive. They were close, those three, always laughing in the Tavern and cavorting around until one of them lost consciousness, usually Sera. When he had tried to help, her hands had been shaking, trying to tie a bandage around Bull’s arm. Dorian had reached over, plucking the strips of cloth from her hand s and tying the knot easily. She had thanked him then, as she did now.

“I apologise, Dorian, if I offended you, Solas or Vivienne with my actions. I appreciate the help. I will try.” She had attempted to collect herself, pulling off the little armour she had been wearing at the meeting and pulling her unruly hair away from her face to reveal both her eyes, glowing like the setting sun, they were unnatural for a human, he thought. There was more to this Inquisitor than her companions knew, perhaps they should organise a meeting and compare notes. He thought it best not to joke about that with her at the present time; the Bull had spotted them and shouldered his broadsword to join them. “It was my pleasure, my lady.” He knew in moments he would be the third wheel of the cart, so to speak, and decided to join Varric who was having a jolly chat to Bianca the crossbow a small distance away. He could use the ranged target practice anyway.

“Beautiful, Bianca!” the dwarf laughed as Dorian approached, situating himself so as to have a view of the Inquisitor in case she tried out the blades from the Fade.

“Can you see what’s happening over there?” Varric chuckled, not taking his eyes off his target, a rather battered looking dummy with a quiver of arrows in its head alone.

‘Can you?” Dorian replied, raising an eyebrow. He glanced across the field at what the woman held in her hands; a sword that blazed with a blinding, burning light. It swung easily in her hand and she was laughing, the sound carried across the training yard as the Qunari appeared impressed, but she quickly let the blade fade in her hands. Dorian clapped softly as the dwarf sunk another arrow in the target.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea. I didn’t think anyone else except Blackwall had noticed, the old warden seems to know more than he lets on.” The look on Varric’s face suggested they were not gossiping about combat tactics. “Don’t tell Cass, though, Maker that would be a disaster, the poor kid’s already been banned from flirting with the soldiers.”

“Do you really not know why the Inquisitor would be upset with the Seeker about the blades?” Dorian was not going to let that one go easily.

“It’s certainly not the fact the girl’s got loose moral standards, according to the Seeker. No, I don’t know, they don’t hate each other though, I know that much. The Seeker respects her, which is something I never thought would happen but…”

Dorian’s mouth had opened slightly; he was staring in the Inquisitor’s direction without a hint of subtlety. “What are you do-“ It was certainly a sight to see, the Inquisitor and the Bull were engaged in close combat, with two long wooden sticks to even the odds. She was taunting him and he was laughing heartily, swinging his makeshift sword confidently. She was on the ground more than once, rolling arund avoiding his blows efficiently, then she went in for the kill. Unfortunately at the same time he did, she had not been paying attention and was now locked in a battle of strength with the Qunari- his downward blow only stopped by her double-handed parry. Neither of them moved, if he truly wanted to Bull could have broken her weapon with sheer strength alone, but he did not, and she would not give up.

The Inquisitor put up an admirable fight, but there was no way she would win, not unless she could shift the balance somehow. Bull seemed to realise this, and opted for a less serious approach, tossing aside his own weapon and grabbing hers with a single hand between hers, lifting her off the ground with relative ease. The dwarf and the Tevene could hear them, barely. Thankfully the wind was in their favour. “Rule number three of combat training, don’t battle the big guy.” He chuckled, their faces were inches apart and she was mad, though quickly turned the tables by swinging her legs around the Qunari’s torso. Instinctively, his free hand to hold her up, throwing the stick aside, or attempted to before she caught it midair and brought it across the back of his neck, carefully hooking it around his horns, holding it and herself in place. The shock soon wore off Bull’s face and settled into another expression, one of respect, among other things. Dorian had not seen him this serious since the last demon he faced. It was a private moment, and Varric and he were intruders. They would have turned away, but apparently the dwarf could read lips. “Rule number one, don’t let your opponent distract you, she says. I always said that kid had balls.” He was chuckling.

The pair seemed entranced; it was the most singularly passionate display of violence and skill Dorian had ever seen. Both Varric and Dorian turned as the human woman leant and hovered less than an inch from the Qunari’s lips, chest still heaving from the effort of hoisting herself around by her arms and thighs. They stayed that was for a moment, before he removed a hand from her back and used it to clasp the back of her neck, meeting her lips with near dangerous force. The pair did not notice they had an audience, even as the Qunari began to walk towards the stables.

“Not a word to the Seeker?” Dorian confirmed, letting his eyes drift anywhere but the stables.

‘Right, I’ll let the stable hands know they just got the night off, courtesy of Her Eminence the Inquisitor Trevelyan.”

“Right, I’ll keep the Warden out of the training yard then.”


	8. Cole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty friend-fluffy also, forgive me. Also, I am obsessed with sea shanties, as you might know, and the theme song from Outlander was playing while I was writing this and I think it is aptly sad enough to fit my girl Rae as well as Cole.

**_ Cole _ **

She was not like Evangeline, she was less frightening, more strange, like him. Cole had never seen somebody with eyes like that, they were like shattered stained glass, like the glass in Val Royeaux. He was a long way from Val Royeaux now, but it didn’t matter. Nor did it matter they would forget him, he only wanted to help. She said she would remember, so far she had kept her promise. It was morning now, light streamed from his bedroom window between gaps in the curtains. She had said her room was only a few steps away, and he would usually wander a while before she called her companions together, plus him, to discuss what the day would bring. He hoped he would not run into the elf girl again.

A sweet sound carried from the Inquisitor’s room in the pale light of morning. She would sing as she bathed, whether day or night, he had noticed. _I thought I heard the old man say, leave her Johnny, leave her. Tomorrow ye will get your pay and it’s time for us to leave her._ Cole liked the songs she sang; they were all sad, about death or sadness. Her voice was sweet and soft when she sang; it matched her lips, but not her face with all its scars. She could not have been much older than him, he thought. He had not meant to enter the room, but he wanted to hear the words, so he could remember them. She had a large bath, carved stone in the willowy shapes of elves and trees. _Leave her Johnny, leave her. Oh, leave her Johnny leave her. For the voyage is long and the winds doth blow and it’s time for us to leave her._

She had seen him in the mirror, he did not think she would have been able to see, people tended to get offended when somebody saw them dressing or bathing, he didn’t really know why. “Cole! What are you doing?” she had sat down with a splash, spilling water over the sides of the basin. She did not seem to mind as much as Evangeline about being spied on. Nonetheless, he was sorry for it. “I didn’t mean to see anything; I only wanted to hear the words.” He looked at his toes, fidgeting awkwardly like a child. Her mouth formed a small ‘o’ as she stared at him.

“I can take you to the tavern sometime; they have Bards there sometimes if you like music.” She seemed genuinely intrigued at his motives.

“No, I- you don’t have to. I like your songs best.” He smiled. What a scrunched and unsure thing it seemed but she smiled back all the same and laughed to herself.

“I don’t quite do them justice. You should hear an entire crew of rowers belting out a tune all together.”

“Have you heard that?” He sat upon the ground, legs clutched to his chest. The uncomfortable position felt most natural to him, he liked to keep the pieces of himself close.

“I have. I sailed with a group of… entrapaneurs… well we were pirates really, there’s no use coating it in sugar now. They used to sing all the time, day or night. I miss it, the noise, it was nice to fall asleep to, like a storm.” She clutched the rim of the tub, resting her chin on its edge thoughtfully.

“Do you miss being an entra… pirate, Inquisitor?” He did not want her to stop talking, she might forget him otherwise.

“Sometimes it is difficult not to, though the food is far better here. I don’t care much for the rules here though. Tell me, Cole, do you miss where you came from?” she looked like a cat with her gold eyes shining. He thought of angry men, darkness and lonely chills. Cole shook his head.

She had offered before to send for Rhys, Evangeline or anyone he would like to see but Cole had shaken his head then too. Rhys was different now; he had his own life and was making a difference in his way, as he always had. Cole was needed right where he was and he would help, somehow.

“I was lucky, when I wouldn’t have missed the place I was in, I could move on, become someone else. I don’t think I’ll be able to do that again, there’s only so many lives a person can have.” Water was dripping down her forehead and onto her nose, falling on the floor with dull thuds. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came back with us.”

Could he be someone else, change what he was and feel less caught? Maybe she would tech him, if he helped enough. No, he knew what he was; there was no way to reverse it. He was glad she was glad he had stayed though. Maybe she needed someone to listen to her songs.

“Could you sing the one about the lost lady?” he thought it best to ask while she was likely to say yes.

“A lost lady?” she frowned slightly.

He struggled with the words for a moment before settling on the correct lyrics. “A lass that is gone. She’s a lost lady, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is.” She seemed lost herself as she spoke. “I will sing it once, and only once, before you have to go. I’m expecting the Seeker to burst through the door at any moment.” And with that, she began to hum.

_The Templars come to kill you. You won’t remember me. You will forget. Or you’ll die. I won’t forget you. Cole! Come out you little bastard! Shh, Bunny. Bunny? Mother? Rhys? Evangeline? What was her name? Inquisitor. Trev-trevelyan. Raen. Raen? I almost forgot you. I’ll kill you, you little bastard, you little freak._

The Fade was a horrible place and he knew the dream too well. He didn’t want to sneak up upon her, but he could not breathe, it was getting harder and harder to wake. He had to struggle, to fight more than ever to work himself from the grasp of the man who called him ‘son’. The sobs were harsh and strangled as they escaped him. Why couldn’t they let him be? He felt alone, like never before or perhaps lately he had simply been craving more tethers to reality, more contact. He didn’t want to sneak up on her. He didn’t want to frighten her. But how could he not when he was the monster they said he was?

So he sat outside her door and let his loneliness and remorse overwhelm him. She heard him, she had not been asleep it seemed, and was cold, clammy and shaking as she pulled him to his feet with strength she looked to lack. He was taller than her, but she stood upon her toes and pulled him into a long embrace. She then opened the door again, dragging the blankets from her own bed and wrapping one around herself, put them upon a long cushioned seat. She inclined her head, signalling for him to sit beside her. He was still crying, softly as he settled and she wrapped a blanket about his shoulders. He didn’t deserve this. He tried to tell her that. She got mad. “Don’t you say that, not ever.” He hadn’t noticed she had been crying before. It seemed silly for her to cry for him. He couldn’t watch her cry, so he laid down, tentatively resting hi head upon her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair and placed her other hand over her mouth as the tears flowed down her cheeks, yet despite her shaking, he felt safer than he had in a very long time. It felt like home. He did not dream again that night, nor did she.

“Will you sing, Raen?” Cole was sitting beside her, with the curious elf Solas on his other side. He liked the elf man, and the Qunari one, Raen called him Bull. Cole had seen him leave her room a few times at night; they must have been planning something big. The Spirit boy had whispered, but he was sure she had heard him.

“Not tonight, Cole. Nobody wants to hear that.” She breathed softly, half-smiling at his suggestion. He thought it would be nice, Bull did too. She was wearing Cole’s hat, she had said she once had one like it, though it suited him better she was now hiding beneath it.

“I didn’t know the Inquisitor sang when not inebriated.” He boomed from across the campfire, his one eye blinked in disbelief. She shot him a look that said; _don’t you dare._ He dared. “By all means, Raen, regale us with a charming ditty from your days at sea.”

“I’ll give you a charming blow to the head if you don’t shut up.” She laughed, surprised to find everyone looking at her. The camp was silent. “I’m not singing.”

“I’ll start you off. Cole, any requests?” The Qunari was not going to let it go, and Cole was happy to help if it meant he could fall asleep to something other than silence.

“I like The Queen and the Soldier. But I like The Lass that is Gone better.” He smiled, confident in his choice. It was her favourite.

“I can’t say I know that one” The Iron Bull looked to Raen for guidance. Her gaze was pointed, she hadn't sung either of those in front of anyone before, Cole had only heard her softly murmur the lyrics absentmindedly when combing her hair at night, or watching the stars upon her balcony. He hadn't bothered to make himself known, Raen had never minded, not even now.

“He means the Skye Boat Song” she elaborated, though no look of recognition crossed the Bull’s face. She was less irritated at the request to sing than she was at the fact nobody knew what she was talking about now. “Where’s Blackwall when you need him? Oh come on, you know it, _sing me a song of a lass that is gone, say could that lass be I?”_

The Qunari smiled as she realised he had won. “I do know it, actually but you might as well finish now.” He chuckled while she sighed and pointed an accusatory finger at both he and Cole.

“You are both impossible”, but Cole could tell she was not mad. “ _Merry of soul, she sailed on a day over the sea to sky.”_ The Bull joined her after a few verses; by the end of the night they had repeated the tune so many times that the entire camp knew it by heart and was merrily singing along with them and the song no longer seemed so sad. Cole saw the pain in their eyes fade away, as they listened and sang. He watched the Iron Bull move next to Raen when the others had moved off, sharing his enormous cup of ale with her as he teased her gently or spoke soft stories of ships.  She drifted off leaning upon the large Qunari's shoulder. "Bull?" Cole spoke, no louder than a whisper.

"Mm?" Bull shifted slightly, trying to make the Inquisitor more comfortable without waking her.

"She doesn't sleep." Cole did not know why he was telling him that, but it felt right. He felt that someone real should know, so that it was not forgotten. Bull looked confused. "She doesn't sleep at the castle."

"I've seen her drink herself to sleep in the tavern every now and then. You mean she doesn't sleep in her own bed?" The Inquisitor stirred, breathing deeply, Bull moved a hand to pull her hair out of her face but seemed to think better of it and instead gently shifted her more comfortably upon his shoulder before focussing on Cole again.

"No, no. I've seen her napping in the tavern, but that's not really sleeping. When she does try in the castle she cries out, names or things I don't understand. I've never seen her sleep, really sleep, like this before. It's... nice. She's nice. She must think you're nice too, or she wouldn't have shut her eyes next to you. So I think you must be nice. She laughs with you." She looked a bit like Bunny when she slept, like a little girl, made even smaller by the Qunari who was carefully. 'Do you think she's nice? She pretends sometimes not to be, but she is." The Iron Bull looked down at the girl next to him, he did not seem to know how to answer the question. "I know she's nice." Cole wondered if he should ask Bull to go on, but he was happy enough to know that someone else thought she was nice. They sat in comfortable silence for a long while, until the Inquisitor woke slowly slipping from the Bull's shoulder before telling Cole to get to bed. She looked like his mother sometimes too. They didn't follow him to the tents. Cole fell asleep to the sound of their voices, their quiet laughter and the playful smack of Raen's hand upon the Qunari every now and then; they would remember him tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far I'm really hoping nobody has taken my campfire sing-a-longs or teacup dragon babies as prediction for the game. Take care, happy reading!


	9. Vivienne

**_ Vivienne; _ **

 “ _My dear Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_We have not yet met, so allow me to introduce myself. I am First Enchanter Vivienne, Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais, personal advisor to the Empress._

_I trust you have received my invitation to the Ball I am holding three weeks hence in honour_ _of our newfound friendship. As host of the party, I trust you will adhere to the standards set by Orlesian custom and tradition and only being those companions with you that would enjoy such festivities._

_I know you are only too busy gallivanting across the countryside, closing rifts and killing demons, but I shall expect your help in a rather urgent matter whilst you attend the Ball. An assassination plot has been set into motion and your assistance will be much appreciated in resolving this matter before any blood is spilled. I, unfortunately, will be far too occupied with the nuances of the politics of good hosting and will thus be indisposed to deal with the matter._

_I’m sure there is no need for me to remind you, Inquisitor, that the world has become a dangerous place. Conflicts rage across the continent, the heavens have torn open, and many say the end of the world is upon us. During such chaotic times, it behooves those of us in power to aid in the restoration of peace and the establishment of order. Lives have already been lost; should we not save those we can? In that spirit, I can only offer my services in return for your most gracious aid._

_Most sincerely,_

_Madame de Fer_

 

* * *

 

_Madame de Fer,_

_Your invitation is most welcome, it can be so very arduous gallivanting across the countryside of both Ferelden and your dear Orlais, protecting innocents and closing tears in the Fade. You need not worry, I shall heed your thinly veiled criticisms of my choice in companions and regulate the attending party to humans only so as not to give offence to the attending members of the nobility. Though I do hope you will forgive me if I do not indulge in some of the more eccentric traditions of the Orlesian court, white powder will simply look ridiculous on my face considering the tone of my skin is not Orlesian in nature._

_I trust my advisors and companions, as well as myself, can resolve your problem swiftly and neatly. If not, I shall pay for any damages, though I trust you are as flippant with material possessions as I find myself. In truth, it seems sentimentality and habit are liabilities for those of us who wish to describe what you so aptly label ‘chaotic times’._

_Your offer of support will be most welcome also; for I hear you and I share our opinion of the Circle and its benefits. I look forward to having the chance to judge the measure of Madame de Fer myself, away from the politics of playing the gracious host. But know this, Madame, if I should be dancing most merrily into a trap- my retribution will not be sympathetic, nor will it be mild._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Inquisitor Trevelyan._

The letter was not in the hand of the Scribe, and was stamped with the Inquisitor’s personal seal, not that of her faction. Vivienne was mildly impressed. There had been rumours the Inquistor had been tip-toeing, or rather striding, her way through the game, and had entered in discussions with the Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, the Empress’ cousin and greatest foe. Though Vivienne doubted the Inquisitor wished to be involved in Orlesian politics, it did not seem this was a woman who played for personal gain, she merely played because she could, because she was evidently good at it, and Gaspard was in the market for a new wife. Either way, Trevelyan’s candid approach to the great game did her credit, and the steel beneath the well-masked threats was refreshing, so many nobles these days did not bother to learn the game, merely let others play it for them. There had already been tales told in court by nobles and servants alike, whispering her name in varied codes, the servants and commoners called her the Dragon of Skyhold, 'Her Worship' was used for the pious or the devoted and The Bastard Queen was used most often on the lips of the nobility behind closed door or masked faces and seemed the name to suit her best. Perhaps the mysterious Trevelyan bastard was not as simple as she had imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have a scene in mind for Viv so I went with the letters. Happy reading. DAI fans!


	10. Josephine

**_ Josephine; _ **

The midday sun did little to lighten the Inquisitor’s mood as it streamed through the tall windows of her bedroom. Josephine had been given the unenviable task of preparing her for the Ball, which had been organised by Madame de Fer, the arcane advisor to the Empress Celene- though that title seemed unreliable considering the machinations of Duke Gaspard de Chalons. The Ball would be in true Orlesian fashion, the Empress and her supporters understood the importance of pageantry in times of crisis. The Inquisitor was sitting in her bed, sheets strewn about her and her hair practically standing on end. The Qunari beside her made a quick exit, giving her a quick peck on the forehead before shutting the door behind him, chuckling to himself all the while. 

“Good Morning, Inquisitor.” Josephine knew the woman liked that title far better than the Lady Trevelyan, and preferred her various brandings from commoners and men in taverns than them both. The bundle in Josephine’s arms was heavy, the others had insisted she encourage the Inquisitor to wear a gown of Orlesian make, so as not to draw unnecessary attention to herself but Josephine had other ideas. She was not sure the Inquisitor had heard her, until she spied the look on her face.

The Inquisitor was not slow to rise, and began dutifully, albeit miserably, trying to comb the tangles from her hair, seating herself in front of a beautiful mirror. It had been a gift, in honour of the Inquisitor’s newfound fame as the tamer of dragons. The woman had been terribly depressed when she let the little beast go, but it had seemed to live on, emblazoned upon banners and used as her personal seal, Josephine had saw to that. Perhaps that is why the Inquisitor treated her more kindly than she did Leliana. “I was so glad we have the same complexion, it made these far easier to pick out.” Josephine did not mind that the Inquisitor was now looking interestedly at the pile of clothes she had draped over her bed. The Inquisitor may have been more comfortable in an oversized linen shirt most days, but Josephine knew the girl had impeccable, or at least expensive, taste from the armour or robes she chose when leaving the Keep. Yet still another matter seemed to weigh upon the woman’s mind as Josephine gently took the comb from her hand and began easing the knots from her dark golden hair.

"I should apologise to you. You must understand, I spent years of my life pretending to be blind and childish, hiding beneath innocence. I know not how to do so now, but what I said the other day was... well, it was not meant to offend _you_. I doubt you would have advised your fellow Advisors to chastise me like that.”

_The Inquisitor’s gaze burned with a fury none of her companions had ever seen before. Cassandra looked mortified and Josephine had wondered if she should not say something to ease the tension. It was a poor plan to begin with; the Inquisitor would never take kindly to the right and left hands of the Divine ganging up on her, at least not about her personal life. Josephine had always found the Inquisitor quite willing to bend to the will of her companions when it did not specifically disadvantage her- she had given up the dragon easily enough and had, with little complaint, changed her entire fighting style to suit their agenda. But this time, Josephine knew they had crossed the line. There were few things the Inquisitor liked better than to be an enigma to those around her, her personal life was something she guarded jealously from the Advisors when she wasn’t busy flaunting her lack of patience for the Seeker’s rules with the soldiers._

_“Is this because of the whole Ben-Hassrath thing because I said I was sorry for not making it known to you? Or are you simply trying to convert me to a solemn and overly malicious Chantry sister?”_

_“Inquisitor, listen-”_

_“No,_ you _listen. I am the_ Inquisitor _, whether you like it or not. Do you think half the people in this hold would be here if I wasn’t the one asking them to be? Be quiet Leliana. I don’t give two fucks what the Divine_ or _her lackeys want. How dare you, any of you, give me an ultimatum! Did you really think I would agree to this? As far as I am concerned, he has done more for this Inquisition than you all combined. I am not your pet; I am not a puppet you can pull upon a string. I will not be commanded, I will not be controlled, and I will fuck whoever I bloody well like.”_

Josephine had known the Inquisitor had not meant to imply they had done nothing for the cause, she was only trying to prove her point. “There is no need to apologise, Inquisitor, the matter was handled poorly.” The other woman scoffed at that, Josephine was grateful. “You love him, don’t you?” It was presumptuous, it was more than that, it was personal. Josephine had not meant it to sound like an accusation, but feared that would be how the Inquisitor would take it.

The look upon Raen's face was not one Josephine had seen, the woman had halted her movements to stare at her reflection, alarmed, not seemingly able to quite place the face that stared back at her. It was as if she stared at a stranger, a stranger she did not trust, but did not wholly dislike. “I didn't mean it to be more than... I never felt... have never felt... real before." She could tell the Inquisitor wanted to say more, but the words seemed to frustratingly evade her. Josephine herself thought she knew a thing or two about pretending to be someone she was not, planning conversations and such. But she knew little of the Inquisitor's past, even less of her feelings now, she could still not quite tell whether the Inquisitor was willing to concede that she had feelings at all.They were silent for a while after that, as the inquisitor painted her eyes artfully, wearing a barely-visible smirk the entire time. “You would think I would have learned by now not to care about anything. It usually just means I have to die again.” She looked as if she has only then become aware of what she had said, and scoffed, flippantly waving the notion away. "Don't read too much into that, Josie, that's just my version of nostalgia... and evading the question."

When what seemed to be years of neglect had been worked from the Inquisitor’s hair, she turned to inspect the attire options herself. “I was told to bring you only a single option to wear this evening, but I felt it would be more appropriate to let the Inquisitor choose what she liked best herself.” The Inquisitor seemed slightly confused, rising to eye the multitude of gowns Josephine had hand-picked for her, she would have gone to get another armful if the Inquisitor had liked none of her choices but the woman’s golden eyes had settled upon a burgundy dress made of an alarmingly small amount of cloth. “It will be a nice way to show them exactly who you are.”

“Who exactly is that?” The woman was running her hands along the silk, appreciating the splits down either side of the dress and the plunging neckline which was accentuated by the way the fabric had been cut in the shape of an ‘x’, barely covering any womanly assets the wearer possessed. The dress had been made as a pair, complemented by the jewellery designed to make up for its lack of modesty; golden vines that slipped as cuffs upon the arm, winding and twisting from neck to below the waist, curving into snakes at some points, dragon flowers at others.

“Who did you see when you looked in the mirror just now?” Josephine shooed her over to the bath, standing her in front of the full-length mirror to accentuate her point.

“Scars.” The Inquisitor’s voice was soft and rich, the sort that men stopped and listened to.

“Is that all? I think he might see something different." Josephine knew It was clear who she meant. "Truly I think if you asked anybody in this Keep they would say you are more than just a collection of scars.” It was so strange, Josephine had expected her to say gold or perhaps simply her name. “They would say you are the reason we are all still fighting. In that dress, I do not think the Empress herself could deny that and it is the best I can do considering they will not let any non-humans attend, unfortunately Orlais is not as progressive as it likes to think it is. Can you tolerate that?”

 “I can tolerate most anything if it gets me what I want.” Josephine smiled sadly, she could see the extent of what the Inquisitor could tolerate.

“What is it that you want?” the advisor was genuinely intrigued. The Inquisitor had seemed shocked, as if nobody had ever thought to ask her what she wanted before.

"To leave a pleasant-smelling corpse." The answer was so ludicrous; the two women did not stop laughing about it for the remainder of the evening, whenever one caught the other’s eye. “And I want the tavern to still be open when we get back.”

The Inquisitor was a vision in the dress; it hugged her curves in all the right places and showed more skin than the entire Orlesian court put together. She looked like a Queen, the Bastard Queen indeed. The carriage bumped along as Josephine handed Cullen, Blackwall and the Inquisitor each their masks. They had only been able to order a single mask for their leader, considering the Orlesian Empire’s best craftsmen were in the midst of the seasonal influx of orders from the nobility. Josephine’s choice had been simple, a gold piece that would cover only the area around the Inquisitor’s eyes. The craftsman had done a beautiful job, sharp petals of dragon flowers adorned the mask’s shiny surface and its edges curled up into points- simple yet elegant. “The mask was my choice, I know it can be uncomfortable for non-Orlesians to wear a full faced mask.” The Inquisitor seemed impressed, turning the object over in her hands inspecting the design, the woman certainly liked gold.

“I am no stranger to masks.” The other woman smiled as she handed it back to Josephine. “Before I put one on, I was afraid of everything.” She had sat down again, absentmindedly plaiting her hair with tiny braids. “Tell me, Josephine. Have you ever felt you do not quite fit in your own skin?”

“I am not sure what you mean, my lady.” Josephine knew exactly what she meant, but it would have been a crime not to let the Inquisitor continue.

“It is a strange feeling to be rid of.” The statement made Josephine smile and gave her confidence to continue with her plan.

Josephine had noticed both the men in their company had suddenly found the patterns upon the doors of the carriage far more interesting than anything else. Yet the Inquisitor was proud and Josephine was glad to have been the one to make her so. She made up for what she lacked in appropriate attire with her skill at the game. The woman could have been mistaken as Orlesian herself if her accent did not give her away. This would not be an evening to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was my second-favourite to write, I hope you liked it. Stay tuned for the Sera and Iron Bull chapters! As always, thank you for reading.


	11. Sera

**_ Sera _ **

Sera didn’t know why they all seemed to like _it_ so much. It was unnatural, a demon of some sort or something. Bull was being a daft tit as usual and had taken the Inquisitor’s order to ‘be welcoming’ to the thing to heart. Sera, however, would do no such thing. She’s seen what things like that could do, would do if given the chance. Had they all forgotten that? Idiots, all of them and it seemed Sera and the Seeker were to agree on this, of all things.

There they were, Raen and Bull relaxing as if nothing was wrong while they watched it disappear and reappear around a training dummy, stabbing it every which way. The sight gave Sera the chills, it could be invisible half the time and nobody would notice. They noticed her arrival later than she would have liked, but she wasn’t fussy. It was time to go. There were some demons in a nearby town and they were the team the Inquisitor had chosen to bring with her. The choice of Bull and Sera was not surprising, considering they were friends, but _Cole_? It didn’t make sense.

The first time she had called the Spirit thing ‘it’, she had not noticed the Inquisitor tense, the second time it was obvious, the third it was a dismount in the middle of a main road. “Get off” The Inquisitor deadpanned in Sera’s direction. She was in trouble.

“What part of ‘ _be welcoming’_ was so fucking hard to understand?” she grabbed Sera’s shirt, practically picking her up and pitting her out of sight from Bull and the thing he was trying to distract with a conversation about the best ways to pass time in Thedas. “Y’know Cole, we’ve hunted wyverns, fought through caves to find some old magical crap. Even went giant-baiting once. It wasn’t too bad apart from the fact Raen got her ass handed to her.”

“You should know better than anyone what things like that can do. Why would you treat a monster like a person, it doesn’t make sense, Raen!” It was Sera’s turn to be mad now, how could her friend be so blind?

“The only monstrous thing I have seen all day is the way you treat that boy. If you even think of calling him anything other than ‘him’ or ‘Cole’, I swear Sera, I will not be this patient next time. I see Bull’s face every time we face a demon and I see yours, you’re afraid, I get it, but if he can get over it, so can you.” The Inquisitor’s eyes were burning holes in her head before she turned to get back on her horse.

“Is the world really so black and white for you Raen, that you wouldn’t even entertain the possibility that he could be playing you all?”

“My world is all shades of grey. Maybe you should try seeing things less black and white, Sera.”

“Why do you even care?” Sera yelled. It was a valid question, since when did Raen care about crap like that, or anything but herself and her damned Inquisition? In hindsight, it was a lousy move, but it seemed appropriate at the time. The woman spun on her in a bur of gold, pinning sera against a nearby tree with enough force to knock the wind out of her.

“I _care_ because I know what it’s like to have someone call you a monster for no reason other than their own ignorance. How dare you think yourself so important as to decide who deserves punishment for _existing_.” Sera had never seen the Inquisitor, or anybody, like this before. She was positively trembling with rage as she turned once more. “Get on you horse, Sera, and go back to the Keep and tell Cassandra what happened. Maybe you can both have a chat about seeing things from someone else’s point of view, if not Cole’s, then mine.” 

The inquisitor did not wait for Sera to go before she moved on, taking the others with her without so much as a backward glance.

* * *

 

“How long did she live like that?” The story the Seeker was weaving was beyond unbelievable, Sera had thought the Inquisitor was just a rebellious noble.

“Until she was fifteen.” Cassandra seemed uncomfortable relaying the gruesome details and Sera was sorry, she was, and she understood why Raen had defened the Spirit.

“But this is different, Cassandra, she wasn’t a monster she was just a kid, just a mage. We don’t know what this _Cole_ is!”

“When we hauled her out of the ashes the first time I saw her, we had no idea what she was. Some said a demon, some said Andraste herself, but upon closer inspection the truth was far from what even I had imagined. I had thought her a monster, a murderer. Perhaps upon closer inspection, Cole’s truth will be far from what we imagine also.”

“And if it isn’t?” Sera was not entirely convinced.

“Then that will be upon the Inquisitor’s head alone.”

* * *

 

Dinners were not usually so uncomfortable. The group’s usual laughter and banter had subsided quickly in light of the tensions between their leader and herself. She didn’t want to make a fuss, so she simply sat herself next to the Spirit.

“I’m sorry for not calling you by your name” she didn’t make a habit of apologising for her actions often, but when she did, she meant it. The Inquisitor had heard, from across the room she had been watching, and smiled gently at them. The spirit did not say anything, only nodded and gave a small smile in acknowledgement. “I’ll be nicer from now on.”

Now to make amends with Raen, the situation called for a stiff drink, for them both. “I’m sorry, you know I am, I was only-“

“trying to warn me, I know. I trust the Seeker explained that if my decision in keeping him around was in any way wrong, then I will take responsibility for it.” The woman accepted the drink Sera pushed her way.

“Yes, she did. Can we call a truce now?”

“Aye, we’ll call a truce, but you can still buy me another drink at the tavern later.” The woman smiled, as warm a smile as Sera had ever seen her give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this should have, in all seriousness, been after the Solas chapter but there's not much I can do about it now. Stay tuned for my sad attempts at romance writing my dears! *"Can you feel the love tonight" plays in distance* Oh yeah.


	12. The Iron Bull

**_ The Iron Bull; _ **

There was something different in her drinking that night, an urgency he didn’t quite understand. It bled into her smile, dulled her eyes but she seemed to be enjoying herself, as usual. Earlier she had entered the tavern, towing Cole behind her. Without wasting any time she had ordered the musician in the corner to strike up a tune. The boy looked exceedingly uncomfortable, but those around them formed two circles, pulling the spirit and the Inquisitor with them. Soon the boy was smiling as much as she was, finally getting the hand of the Remigold. The Iron Bull had never seen her quite so human as she had been in the Fade, singing the songs Cole loved, changing the words to call him back to them. The boy had become lost only days before, Solas had needed Raen’s help to get him back from the other side, she’d brought Bull with her. He’d never much been a fan of mage business but he wasn’t going to let the spirit kid down. She had killed the boy’s tormentors with no remorse and helped him bury his sister, holding the kid all the while. She had said something about not being lucky, being a runner. She showed him a memory, or a dream- the Fade shifted around them, her nightmares bled into his and Bull was grateful he was not a mage. The estate was pretty; the sight they found inside it was not. A boy of no more than ten was wrapping a rope around the neck of a tiny little girl whose eyes glowed like the rising sun. Her arms were covered in scabs and cuts but she did not struggle, did not call for help even though she clearly saw them watching. She let him throw the rope wound the rafters of a nearby building, hoisting her off the ground. Bull had drawn his battle axe, intending to cut the girl down. But Raen had placed a gentle hand on his bicep, and the dream was gone as quickly as she had summoned. She had said they could not run anymore, and the boy had held her, placing his chin upon her head, telling her he would not forget again. Bull had wanted to ask so many times who those children were. Sera had said something once that made him think he knew the answer. He had asked the Smith, a short while after he arrived, what he knew of her past. The one-handed man had smiled at him, saying something about him being a nice fit for her, but his question remained unanswered. He had still not found the right moment to approach the topic with her, not wanting that devilish grin to leave her face for a moment. 

She showed no signs of slowing in the early hours of the morning and had sent Cole to bed already. The look on her face suggested she was beyond remembering the rules Cassandra had set for her, and was dancing with a couple of Rivaini women. They beat their own bodies, chest and thighs, seeming to bend the earth with their feet in sharp, flat movements- spinning it into something beautiful. Her hips rocked as they turned, clapping and moving in synchronisation. He’d seen Rivaini dancing before but not like that. When she tired she had taken a spot upon the table he was sitting at just before two strangers entered the tavern.

“All I’m saying is, maybe she knew the guy, it wouldn’t surprise me with all the favouritism that goes on around here.” One of them was a spindly redhead; the other was a burly bald man- both were human.

“Damn the bastard bitch, she should have made that bloody mage tranquil anyway! She should be made bloody tranquil herself if what they say about the Qunari is true.” They seemed perfectly unaware that the particular bastard bitch and Qunari they were talking about, though he didn’t know how they could know anything about them considering neither of them ever stayed the night nor did they do much to encourage rumours in public. He didn’t think he was the only one whose name strangers connected to hers in whispers and insinuations, it didn’t really bother him; neither of them took anything quite seriously enough to get hurt by something the other did.

Raen had the predatory look about her that either meant she wanted to kill someone or wanted to sleep with someone. He suspected it was the former considering he himself had already risen from his seat. He perhaps took her more seriously than he’d thought, or he would if she wasn’t another world away. Her voice broke the silence. “Want to start a brawl, Bull?” she bit her lip, excited at the possibility of violence before the evening ended, before she playfully grabbed his belt and pulled him into a rough and quick kiss. She certainly had forgotten the rules tonight. He took the burly one, she took the redhead and within moments they had dragged them outside, giving them each a square kick in the ass to remember them by, or at least that was what he did, she gave the redhead a few vicious blows before letting him go. “And stay the fuck out of my tavern!” Raen called after them, showing her teeth and batting her eyelashes as she waved them goodbye. She was a thunderstorm, an _Asaaranda,_ but usually one that let common drunkards off lightly.

“Want to go home?” he put a hand upon her bare upper arm but she shrugged away ever so slightly. “Home.” She breathed heavily. “Not yet.”

He loved her like this, drunken and dishevelled, hair mussed and lips parted and thus it was not until her head rested upon his shoulder and her hand bearing the Fade mark was dangling limply by her side that he deemed it wise to remove her, considering she would not be likely to suggest otherwise, being unconscious and all.

* * *

 

She was fast asleep in his arms as he carried her up the many stairs to her rooms in the Keep tower. He knew the way to them like the back of his hand, so often moving between them and his own by the light of the moon. It would be breaking her rules if he stayed, so he only intended to put her to bed, make sure she was all right before leaving. He had not intended on falling asleep in a chair, watching her chest rise and fall. It was a rare thing, to see her looking so innocent.

Bull woke to a strangled cry. Raen thrashed about, as if something had her by the neck, pulling her into oblivion. Her hair was damp and her scars shone in the faint moonlight coming though the opening in the draperies. He moved quickly, shaking her gently, but she kicked at him blindly, a silent scream echoing louder than anything he had ever heard. “Shh, Raen. You’re home, you’re all right.” Cole was at the door; Bull looked over helplessly, what could he do? The boy looked as if he was about to cry, or run away, but he stayed. Bull tried his best to get a grip on her shoulders, pulling her up, still gently shaking her all the while. She woke like a drowned woman, clawing and gasping for air, gripping his arms to hold herself in place. As her eyes flickered from himself to Cole, drinking in reality, she spoke in a strangled voice to the boy, reassuring him she was fine, though her nails dug into Bull’s skin. When Bull gave him an affirmative nod, he turned and left with a final baleful glance. She had been determined not to let the boy see her cry, but now he was gone her body was racked with sobs. She looked so small, as if she had shrunk back on herself, trying to hold herself together. Beside her on the bed, he carefully gathered her into his arms, pressing his mouth to her hair as she desperately pressed herself against his chest, sobbing loudly, asking why nobody could see her.

She whispered with a grief that was familiar to him. It was something you could not put into words, the tightening in your chest when you realise your scars run deeper than your skin and the memories will never fade. He was no stranger to nightmares. She settled quickly, calming to the sound of the rain outside. As the stared out the window at the darkness, he softly watched. Her breathing had returned to normal when she twisted around in his arms, settling herself with a knee on either side of him and leaning back to pull the loose shirt he’d set her to bed in off her back. His hands were as gentle as he could be, tracing the long indents of old lashes upon her back. He had noticed them before, granted they did not always have time for shirt-removals; this was the first time he knew enough to recognize they still hurt. She had never been like this before, quiet and soft, she usually preferred to be rough, almost harsh- an inferno rather than smouldering ashes. Had she always been this delicate?

She was moving slow, reaching behind his head to untie his eye patch. With anyone else he would have minded, not with Raen’-like-the-weather-but-not’ or no, and so he pressed his lips along her chest, where that little bastard of a dragon had sat and to her neck, where the dimly shining mark of a poorly-crafted hangman’s noose made his grip tighten on the human woman. The patch came off easily, revealing the ugly scars beneath. She lowered herself back down, hands lingering on his face before she kissed the scars. It was a strange feeling that almost made him shiver at the light touch of her lips. She didn’t ask how he’d gotten it, she had once before. He would have told her everything then, anything she had asked, and consequently he kissed her like never before. As Bull’s hands drifted along her torso he found yet more scars, the most obvious being a long slice from her right breast to the top of her left thigh. She balanced herself with his horns, applying pressure to where they met his skin, causing him to involuntarily pull her closer. “I can never tell if you like that or hate it.” She breathed against his cheek, hands moving down his chest to unbuckle his belt, slipping it off easily with deft fingers.

 

* * *

 

He told her she was perfect as she hovered above him on the bed, he said it over and over with various expletives for emphasis as she rocked her hips back and forth, locking her lips with his briefly and only to tease him. She laughed when he turned the tables on her, fully herself again- revelling in things other humans would have been too easily injured by. The Rivaini bit his shoulder when he pulled her up from her back just as she was about to finish, as he bit hers when he did. If they couldn’t get rid of each other’s scars, they might as well as add more marks to the count; it would be innumerable between them but in that moment it felt like only two and the message it sent was clear- she was his and he was hers. As she fell back on the bed, chest heaving, she smiled, eyes smouldering gently in their sockets, he shifted slowly to swing his legs so as to stand up. As he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her eyes flutter slowly open and closed, he warred with himself on whether or not he should stay, he wanted to, but the threat to her role as Inquisitor had been jeopardised enough, the men in the tavern illustrated that flawlessly. And so he was content, now she was smiling, to wander back out into the night. Raen had other plans though, sitting with lips pressed to his muscled shoulder. “Stay” she breathed.

“Are you sure, Kadan?” he pressed his forehead to hers, she nodded against him.

“You could have stayed any night.” she whispered, knowing how futile it sounded when neither of them had been willing to damage the other. They did take some things seriously. “I don’t know that word, that had better not have been a Qunlat insult.” She laughed; it was a glorious, sweet, transcending thing. “I would never insult you so that you couldn’t understand it. I am offended you think me such a coward” he joked. It was natural, all of it, to laugh as the stars faded and to watch her fall asleep with her hands upon his bare chest. For a moment it almost seemed possible to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I cannot write smut to save myself so I'll leave that to your imagination and to the pro's). For the almost final time, thank you so much for reading. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the ride. Take care, stay strong in the month until Inquisition.


	13. Drabbles and Bonus Scenes (Unedited)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a dump of tidbits that I never got round to finishing or that I felt did not belong in the final cut or didn't have the time to finish.

BONUS SCENES:

He had not once hurt her, not ever until that night. He had been drinking alone, not realising he was drifting off. The kitchens got new stock that day and so he had been sampling the new deserts with the warden before he had fallen asleep. It wasn’t like her to worry where he was; usually she just happened to be awake when he came to bed, not wanting to fall asleep alone. But for one reason or another she had found him at the dining table, arms and head on the table, in the midst of remembering something he would rather forget. _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun._ The dream would shift and morph, and the voices crying out were not strangers; they became Sera, Cole or Vivienne. They were Raen, always Raen. Mages possessed by demons taunted him, laughing at the irony that the one time she left him behind, was the one time he could have saved her. They said she cried for him, that she called out his name as they tortured her. And then there she was, beautiful and wild as ever, this time she was possessed by a demon, wearing nothing but a leer. He had seen her tranquil in his dreams before, or with the sown lips of a Saarebas.

She did not know not to wake him; the force with which he rose near knocked her over, his horn grazing her cheek. He had expected her to clutch it and run away, but the blood didn’t seem to bother her. He could barely see her through his rage and slammed his fists onto the table, multiple times. Her voice pulled him from his stupor, “Bull, you’re breaking the table.” He was shaking, how could she not understand the danger she was in?

It was a fairly one-sided fight, to be fair, she had barely said anything but he stormed off anyway, telling her he was going with her on every damn mission she accepted, and his reposts to the Arishok would not concern her anymore, he would avoid it somehow. It shamed him to think that his fellow Qunari would bind and chain someone like her, or that his superiors would be either disgusted or proud he was sleeping in her bed. So why did a part of him still want to return to the life he left behind? _Doubt is the path one walks to reach faith. To leave the path is to embrace blindness and abandon hope._

It took him less time than expected to cool off, she was still awake, the cut on her cheek had disappeared through magic or potions he did not know. Her hair was out and she was wearing nothing for that was how she liked to sleep, sitting up between the messy sheets, pretty as a picture as she watched him take off his eye patch. Neither of them said a word as he climbed into bed beside her and she pressed her cheek to his chest. There was nothing that could be said.

* * *

 

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing _?”_ She was obviously unimpressed and the volume her voice was reaching was not helping the pounding in his head. The healer had done a good job of binding his wounds but those upon his chest would most likely scar.

“Protecting you.” He shrugged, painfully.

“Oh, _oh._ I see, so throwing yourself at a hoard of demons alone and getting yourself killed is going to protect me, is it?” she let the sarcasm sink in for a moment. “Promise me you will never do that again, Bull. That’s an order.” “I’m not going to promise that” he was determined to make her see his intentions were to stop her from getting killed, or worse.

She did not seem to be listening, and had stalked over to where his weapons were displayed in the corner of her room. Raen had no trouble picking out his favourite, she knew him too well. The Iron Bull tried to ask what she was doing but what it seemed she was doing stilled the words in his throat. She was standing upon the balcony, holding his most prized possession in one hand over the railing. She had gone insane. “Promise me Bull, no more heroics or I’ll drop it, I swear.” She had actually gone insane.

“You wouldn’t” he chuckled; she was less clever than she thought she was.

“Wouldn’t I?” The Inquisitor turned the axe so it was facing down, looking into the abyss. The axe wobbled precariously in the wind.

“Fine, fine. I promise, no more heroics unless your life is directly in danger.” He lifted his hands in surrender, moving to pluck the battle axe from her tiny hands and placing it back where she found it. She was watching him with wide, sad eyes from across the room. He sat on the edge of a nearby lounge, “Come here, Kadan. Don’t sulk.”

“I don’t _sulk_.” Those wile eves were ablaze again as she sat herself on top of him. “I want you to understand where I am coming from, Bull. That axe won’t be the only thing to go flying off that balcony if you die.” Her eyes were serious, suggesting she meant what she said.

“Don’t you ever, Kadan.” He earnestly gripped her face with both hands. _To call a thing by its name is to know its reason in the world. To call a thing falsely is to put out one's own eyes._

“Don’t make me. I’ve nearly lost you twice now. I don’t think I can do a third time.”

“I won’t, I promise.” He meant it. The intensity of her gaze lessened as she flopped onto the cushioned seat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder serenely.

“You know you still haven’t told me what Kadan means.” “I thought you knew some Qunlat” he teased.

“Unless it was something one Qunari would say to another at the docks or a whorehouse, I don’t know it.” The Inquisitor scoffed as he raised an eyebrow.

“It means ‘where the heart lies’, sort of a blanket term for-“ She didn’t let him finish his definition but it seemed she got the idea, from the way she was pressing her lips to his, that was her name, her role, the reason in his world. She was kadan.

 

* * *

 

**_ Raen; _ **

Every now and then, life likes to remind us that we are not in control. It will take something away from you that you thought you could not live without. People live their whole lives being afraid of that moment and so they cling to anything; religion, politics, lovers or family, anything that feels like it matters. Living in a world where everything can be taken from you in a matter of seconds is a harrowing experience. It would make more sense if everybody lived the way I did, simply not caring. I had never clung to anything. I was changeable, adaptable. I have lived my life yearning for those moments; the points of no turning back, the chances to start over. It seemed that night was one of those opportunities, that night I clung.

For once in my life I had not planned the conversation, had not looked at the situation from every possible angle. There had been no time. I did not think I was capable of being myself, I did not even know who I was but he made it easy, everything came easily when he was around, including being the Inquisitor. I had never felt that way around anyone, being around others had always been a necessity but a chore, never solely because I enjoyed being with other people. That had started to change but I still had not been able to say it. To say I loved him. How could I, when I was what I was? Who could ever love what I was beneath the mask, beneath the scars?

*Insert really well thought out scene in which a man with one hand (and scars all over his back) comes before the Inquisitor as she is making 'judgements'/holding court. Surprise kiddies, it's Smithy (those of you who haven't read the first chapter of blood ties will not understand the significance of this man being alive and well for Raen- he is they physical embodiment of her pain- the only person who gave enough of a shit to call Dante out- at the cost of his job, future prospects and health). Bull pulls the man aside into Raen's study before she sees him, knowing the story and not wanting her to have to deal with her past in front of everyone. As soon as she sees Smithy she just loses it and hugs him and cries and he tells her he's proud of her and he should have come sooner. She gives him a job apprenticing the smiths, considering he has only one hand he would not be offered the same opportunity anywhere else and I cannot deal with my feelings enough to write this chapter. I don't have the time but imagine it guys. IMAGINE this chick who doesn't let anyone in (unless they're a Qunari that makes her laugh), who slaughters people for fun in her spare time- literally the most bloodthirsty, unsympathetic asshole of a woman- is reduced to a blubbering mess by the kindness shown to her by one little boy a million years ago. IMAGINE!* 

*Also there is a remarkably well-written and eloquent scene here in which Duke Gaspard de Chalons arrives during judgement-time one day and has the antichrist himself with him (Dante)- Bull near loses his shit and is standing next to the throne with his giant axe in one hand and another on Raen's shoulder. Gaspard makes introductions, alluding to letters exchanged between Raen and himself regarding possibilities of Inquisition support for his claim to the crown and future marriage proposals. Raen makes it clear she said she would accept (some of) his terms (as opposed to Celene's) if he brought her Dante's right hand. Instead he has brought her Dante. She wanted to never see his smug face again. THEN, there's a really intense moment where Gaspard is attempting to explain he is a man of honour and she should speak to her brother, Dante steps forward, bows, says "Hello Sister." She completely ignores him, Bull puts both hands on the axe and moves to step down. She places a hand on his arm. "Wait." She has not taken her eyes off Gaspard. "If you expected me to be impressed by your honour, Gaspard, you were sorely mistaken. Arrest them both." The Inquisition's soldiers were quick to apprehend Gaspard, holding him by both arms while Bull was quicker in grabbing Dante by his long, dark hair and pushing him to the floor at Raen's feet. "I am afraid I have run out of mercy today, Gaspard. I think I'll take his head instead of a single hand." The smile she gives is cold, blood-chillingly cold. Bull is all too happy to comply, pressing his axe to the base of Dante's neck. Gaspard splutters, "Are you mad? Do you want to start a war?" She laughs, a harsh, rich thing. "Do you, Grand Duke? Take him away, make sure he gets out of the Keep safely." The soldiers comply, and forcefully pull Gaspard from the throne room. "I have changed my mind, Bull. I want the hand, perhaps he can guess why. As I said, I have run out of mercy with you Dante. I shall have both hands." Dante laughs. "You monstrous little bitch, you wouldn't dare!" His head is pushed against the floor, arms forced to stretch before him.The axe swings, just once- no more is needed. Dante does not laugh. Dante screams. It is a familiar sound. Dante hurls insults, cries and rolls about on the floor. "Would you like those wounds cauterized, Dante?" She smirks, holding a flaming hand before her face, nonchalantly inspecting her fingernails beneath the fire. "Fuck you." he chokes out, barely audible. "Very well. Get out." Hands pull him to his feet and roughly guide him from the Keep, trailing blood behind them as they went. Dante would be lucky to survive the night. She had been lucky to survive him.*

ALSO, BEAR WITH ME, *insert scene in which Raen says (pillow talk) that she might like to go to Par Vollen one day, see more than the coastline (this comes after a conversation a few days prior about Bull and his place in the Qun and obviously she can tell it has a great hold over him and is a large part of who he is and so she's trying to make an effort to understand what it's like to believe in something like that). He plays it off with a vague comment of his own about how she is on one shore entirely to the way of the Qunari (which he thinks is a good thing, no matter the amount of respect he has for his beliefs). And Rae gets a bit confused, even a bit offended, and she calmly asks "it's me over here and you and the Qun over there, is that it?" (she's no stranger to being distant with people but it's harder with him somehow. And he laughs and says "No, it's us over here, and the Qun somewhere over there." So contemplatively she makes a indirect comment about joining the Qun, a vague sort of comment, subconsciously just to see what his reaction would be and Bull freaks out. FREAKS OUT. Grabs her face in his hands, which are shaking violently, and speaks so softly, almost hoarsely, that she is never going to Par Vollen. "You hide being a mage well, Kadan, but they would know. Do you know what they would do to you then? I will not see you in chains and collared, I will not see those lips sewn together. The Qunari way of life... it's...not for you, not for people like us." He goes on to talk about how they follow the Qun in their own way (because he knows she likes the Qunari's thoughts on skill and control and she knows a lot more Qunlat now). And if I had time it would be a really beautiful and quietly deafening moment of pure revelation for them both that he would put aside his homeland if it meant keeping her safe from harm. And it would be sort of a boiling point for the feelings of disillusionment that accompany service in the Ben Hassrath and his PTSD (which she also knows a lot about because he dreams of it sometimes and they've spoken about their pasts in moments where the discussion could lent some insight into a particular reaction, like her dealings with Cole or her freak-out when asked to perform magic). That disillusionment is embodied in the Saarebas which didn't bother him all that much before he knew her and so it is also embodied in her, as much as she takes him away from the pain of the life he left behind. And it's this moment of quiet understanding, with tears and heavy breathing, fingers pressed bruising into flesh; with two people who understand what it is like to be haunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the very final time, thank you so much for reading and take care, my friends.


End file.
